The Improbability Factor
by DJ 'Link
Summary: There's something fundamentaly wrong with the universe... At least as far as 'Link's concerned.
1. Forward

**A/N: This story will be somewhat of a crossover. It'll cover ideas and theories from nearly every Sci-fi show, book, and movie that's actually worth reading, or watching. I mostly won't be using actual characters or plot aspects in this, so Captain Kirk isn't likely to be beaming Harry onto the Enterprise. But, then again, this is incredibly random, so I suppose it's possible. **

Also, this story is primarily Comedy. Hence the section it's posted in. Only this isn't normal humor. This is like Monty Python, Douglas Adams, and Red Dwarf type stuff, so some of you might not get a lot of the jokes here.

Disclaimer, to all who care: I have gone by many names and titles in my life, and I've forgotten most of them… but I'm pretty sure J. K. Rowling was never one of them…

Sometimes you'll picture me, but I'm walking to far ahead.  
You're calling to me. I can't hear what you've said.  
Then you'll say go slow,  
And I fall behind.  
As the second hand unwinds…  
- Cindy Lauper, "Time after Time"

**Forward

* * *

**

_Time is infinite... As is space. That is what most self-respecting scientists and astrophysicists will tell you. The truth of the matter is that most self-respecting scientists and astrophysicists can't be bothered to research enough to find out what's really going on, and the rest just can't seem to find a way to wrap their heads around the truth. _

Infinity is impossible. Everything that has a beginning has to have an end. Everything that has an end has to have a beginning. Everything that is has both a beginning and an end. Simple.

However, if you told a self proclaimed 'Science Buff' this, he or she would most likely scoff, and deliver some variant of, "So you think there's an end to space and time do you? Okay, so if you're right, then what's at the end, a gigantic brick wall?" only using larger words so as to sound more impressive.

This whole idea of an enormous slab of masonry being the end of all things is not only completely ludicros, but also, of course, entirely impossible. So what's at the end,_ you ask? _

Nothing.

Everything.

Just who the hell cares anyway?

Why would you ask me? I'm only human, just like you. The point of this is not to tell you what the end is. That is impossible. The human mind is so amazingly small and primitive that even the smartest of our species, all of our Einstein's and Socrates' put together wouldn't be able to answer that question. I'm just here to tell you what's in the middle.

Imagine a bed sheet lying out perfectly flat on the ground. This sheet represents Life, the Universe, Everything. As you could imagine, everything is in perfect order, right? Well that's the problem... Time and Space are curved. Or completely and utterly warped, which is much more likely.

Now imagine taking that same sheet and hanging it in half over a clothes line. A point on one side of the sheet comes into contact with a point on the other side. Now Time and Space are completely buggered up. Time-warps, worm-holes, spatial anomalies, distortions in the Space-Time Continuum, whatever official-sounding terms you decide to give them, are formed this way. The disappearances near the Bermuda Triangle, missing airliners, luggage, car keys, wallets, cheap ballpoint pens, and the nose of the Sphinx are all possible victims of this.

Imagine occupying a 767 that is flying across the Atlantic Ocean. You look out you're window and notice a cloud overhead that looks a bit like a Bic lighter, complete with flame. You drift away, thinking about how amazing it would look if it was directly over an outdoor arena, filled with people, with the Beatles up on the stage playing "Let It Be."

When you turn back to look at the cloud, you notice that it's not there anymore, neither is the water that should be stretching out below the plane, seemingly for eternity, (again, impossible.) In fact, nearly everything is gone, except for a total black void, and a few thousand pinpricks of light off in the distance. Space. You now have roughly one third of a millisecond to come to terms with death, have your life flash before your eyes, and regret wasting all that time spent doing boring stuff like work, chores and visiting your in-laws, before the 767 explodes due to a lack of external pressure.

Contrary to popular belief, things like this happen all the time.

This is where things become strange…

Let's look at time for a minute. Now if there were just one unmovable rip in the fabric of time, one gigantic rip that could not only stretch trillions upon trillions of years but could also fit the whole stream of time itself through it, it would be fair to guess that time would just keep on repeating itself, spinning around in a circle, possibly for eternity. Time itself is not eternal, it had its beginning, so it will have its end, however, with this theory in mind, time could potentially_ last forever. Unfortunately it's not that simple. _

Now take a look at that sheet again. You see all the different contact points, because of course there's more than one now, unmoving, completely stationary. At this point a small breeze starts to blow, the leaves of trees are moving, and the contact points on the sheet are changing. At any moment an entire galaxy might be thrown 20 billion years into the past, or maybe only part of a galaxy. Maybe a small planet gets hurled 10 million years into the future, when the sun it's orbiting has been gone for the past 100 thousand years, leaving the inhabitants to freeze to death almost instantly.

Now, as if that isn't bad enough, imagine Time and Space working at the same time. Remember the plane from earlier?

One minute, the earth is moving along normally, and the next, its thrown strait into a black hole, which, last we knew, was Sirius, the Dog Star.

This changes things, doesn't it?

After all, the only constant is change, right?

Just one more thing. If Time and Spatial integrity mean so little, then perhaps separate universes actually do exist. Perhaps these universes exist, not in another demention or plane of existence, but here, universes that constantly change places, universes that disappear and reappear with a slight breeze.

Is it likely that one minute you are a small boy sitting outside of a flat in Scotland, and then universal history changes, and the next minute you are a man named Ix, and from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse? Not likely. But possible?

Remember all those times the word 'impossible' was used?

Bugger that. Nothing is impossible.

Okay, so what was the point of all that,_ you ask? _

There wasn't one.

Or maybe there was?

Just who the hell cares anyway?

* * *

100 points go to anyone who figures out which 3 books I'm using ideas from for this chapter. One of them was also a movie, and another is about to be.


	2. Chapter 1: Owls and OWLS

**Harry Potter and the Improbablility Factor**

Disclaimer, to all who care: I own absolutely nothing whatsoever. Except my Guitar, and maybe... no, that's it. Not Dominoes, not nothin'.

* * *

Chapter 1: Owls and O.W.L.S.

"This must be Thursday, I never could get the hang of Thursdays."  
- Arthur Dent, The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy

Thursday, August 1st, 1996

In a small but typical English suburb in Surrey called Little Winging was an even smaller and more typical road, called Privet Drive. About halfway down this, at Lot number 4, was a more or less entirely unremarkable, small, typical house. In this house, a boy named Harry Potter was just waking up.

As he opened his eyes and stretched he realized that something was wrong, though he couldn't quite say what it was. This was partially because he honestly didn't know what was wrong, but mostly, as he realized a moment later, because he couldn't say anything at all.

Harry had his wand in his hand by that time and had tried to cast the _Lumos_ spell, because he couldn't see a thing, which was odd, because it felt like it was sometime after lunch. For some reason, though, Harry couldn't hear his voice as he spoke. He tried again… Nothing. He then tried something else. He pointed his wand where he knew the desk was.

"_Accio Quill_," he said. Except that he didn't.

When he didn't hear himself say the spell, he assumed that it didn't work, so he was quite surprised when the point of the quill jabbed him painfully in the ear. "Ouch," he said. Only he didn't. _Okay_, he thought, _so I can't speak, but my magic still works_. He then turned his attention back to his eyes.

He still couldn't see a single thing in his room. He opened his eyes. He still saw nothing. _Apparently I can't see either_, he thought, a bit redundantly. This wasn't exactly comforting. _Okay_, he thought, _so I can't see anything, and I can't speak either. Well, at least I can still h- Now wait just one minute!_ Harry paused, and then clapped out the beat to the old surfer song, "Wipeout." Of course he didn't hear it. "Son of a bitch!" he shouted, but luckily for him, as the Dursleys were still home, he didn't.

After he calmed down a bit, he started reviewing the day prior, to see if anything had happened that might have caused this. That was a Wednesday, July 31st, his birthday.  
---------------------

After waking up, he had seen several owls outside his window, and had quickly opened it to let them all in. He untied his copy of the Daily Prophet and the August edition of The Quibbler, an official-looking letter from an official-looking owl, presumably from either Hogwarts or the Ministry, and packages from Hagrid, the collective Weasleys, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and surprisingly, Professor Dumbledore.

When Harry had untied the letter from the Ministry owl, he went and flew straight into Hedwig's cage and fell asleep, which made her extremely annoyed. Harry shrugged it off. Deciding the get the worst over with first, he opened the letter from the Ministry. It was his O.W.L. results. They weren't near as bad as he'd expected:

_**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore** _

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,  
We are pleased to inform you of your O.W.L. results for last term. Your grade results are as follows:

Astronomy: Acceptable… 79  
Care of Magical Creatures: Exceeds Expectations... 93  
Charms: Outstanding... 98  
Defense against the Dark Arts: Outstanding+... 110  
Divination: Poor... 53  
Herbology: Exceeds Expectations ... 87  
History of Magic: Poor... 61  
Transfiguration: Outstanding... 96  
Potions: Exceeds Expectations... 89  
Total O.W.L numbers… 11

We would also like to inform you that you have fulfilled the O.W.L Requirements needed to become an Auror for the Ministry of Magic. If this is still your goal, then you will need to continue with Charms, Defense against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration, and Potions. If you would like to continue with this course of study please send an owl stating so, as well as any other courses that you would like to take.

We would also like you to note that lifetime ban on playing Quidditch has been lifted. Also, as the most senior player on the team, you have the right to select the Quidditch captain for Gryffindor. We await your owl by no later than August 15th.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,  
Deputy Headmistress.

Harry then opened the letter from Dumbledore. It said, in essence, that Fudge had agreed that, as Harry was under constant threat from Voldemort and crew, he should be allowed to use Magic over the summer break. Dumbledore went on to say that Harry should put it to good use, and learn all he could in that time. He also said that, as they were with him at the Department of Mysteries, and so were in possible danger as well, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Neville and Luna would all be given the same notices. Every one of them would also be moved to Grimmauld Place soon, so they could continue their special training in greater detail.

Naturally, this got Harry thinking about life. The problem for Harry was not a lack of purpose, he had that. He had more purpose than he could even account for. No, the best way for Harry to describe it was that he was in a game of chess. But not as a pawn, like others would say. Harry felt more like the king, but that wasn't a good thing. The king was the most important piece in the game, and like Harry, if he was taken, the game was over.

Like the king, Harry was constantly guarded, until the enemy could find a strategy to disrupt the guard. He could only be shuffled around the board, being forced to stay out of the action. And like the king, he was powerless to do anything about it.

That, of course, would have to stop.

Harry didn't feel like continuing to play the game of cat and mouse that he and Voldemort had been in the middle of since before he could even remember. He sat and thought about the people whose lives were affected by it. Not the people who died because of him, that did no good at all, he realized.

He thought about Neville, who had to live with his grandmother because servants of Voldemort had tortured his parents into insanity before he could even really get to know them.

He thought about Ginny, who was nearly killed in her first year, simply for being too trusting.

He thought about Sirius, who had lost two of his best friends in one night, had to deal with the knowledge that a third of his best friends was to blame, and had spent thirteen years in Azkaban for a murder that he didn't commit.

He thought about Remus, who had lost three of his best friends, and knew of a betrayal by the fourth. Then, after he found out that the man he thought guilty of betrayal and murder was innocent, had lost yet another friend.

He thought of Luna, who had followed him into the Department of Mysteries, Barty Crouch Sr., who had lost both his son and wife to Voldemort's influence, Tonks, who had lost both her cousins, and most of her other family as well to him, Alastor Moody, who had been chasing Death Eaters and Dark wizards most of his life, who knew little else, Mr. Weasley, who had almost died from an attack by Voldemort's own pet, Nagini.

He thought of Ron and Hermione, who had been there since the beginning.

He realized that he had only one enemy. Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco Malfoy, the Dursleys, Severus Snape, they were just small annoyances, people to be pitied, rather than fought. He certainly didn't like them, but he didn't hate them anymore, either. He didn't even hate Voldemort for that matter; he was just another man to be pitied. But Voldemort was also not a threat that pacifism would solve. He, unlike the others, couldn't just be shunned and ignored.

These thoughts didn't bother Harry as much as they once would have. He'd had nearly a month alone since the Department of Mysteries to think about his lot in life. He was bothered by the prophecy, sure. He missed Sirius, of course, but as Dumbledore had said a long time ago, it doesn't do to dwell on dreams. Harry knew that, had learned that time and time again, and he wasn't about to make that mistake again. He wouldn't wish his problems away on anyone, so he might as well accept it, right?

For a while now Harry had wanted to buy some new books to help his powers grow. Advanced Defense, Charms, and Occlumency were at the top of this list, as well as a book on the kind of stuff they just didn't seem to teach at Hogwarts, like making Portkeys, healing magic, and disguising spells, that kind of thing. So when Harry opened Dumbledore's package, and saw a small box of advanced books on just about every subject imaginable, he was very happy.

He turned his attention to the rest of his gifts. Hagrid had given him his usual box of rock cakes (Harry kept these, they would be great for throwing at Dudley, if he started getting annoying,) along with a few photographs to add to his book. From the Weasleys, he got a box of buttermilk biscuits, a Weasley sweater, and… Harry's jaw dropped. A brand new broomstick! Magically downsized, it was in a small, rectangular box, and Harry was expecting something small, though thoughtful, but nothing like this! Quickly he got out his wand out and expanded the broomstick, an Apollo Mach 7. This had only come out just after Harry got home from school and was supposed to be even better than the Firebolt. Harry gaped at it a bit more, and then he read the note.

_Hey Harry, _

Happy birthday, mate! Hope you like your present, the thing cost a bundle let me tell you! We all pitched in. Ever since last month, when everyone found out that you were telling the truth, Fudge has really been kissing up to Dumbledore, trying to keep his job. Pretty much everyone working in the ministry that was helping Dumbledore has been given a promotion. Dad's working as the head of the MLE now, Kingsley Shacklebolt's now head of the Auror Division, and Tonks is one of his Lieutenants.

We're not exactly rolling in the dough or anything, but Fred and George! Their shop is doing very well. We thought they were lying until they brought home two Apollos for me and Ginny, (imagine, three Mach 7s on the Gryffindor team, I can just see the look on Malfoy's face, the great oaf,) and a new oven for Mum. The old one was getting all temperamental, it only liked to make desserts, and would spit everything else out. Not that we minded. Anyway.

They've set up shop in both Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, and their working on plans for a new one in France, near Beauxbatons. They've even had to hire outside help. Me and Ginny are working there part time. Anyway, hope you have a good day, and give the Dursleys a good kick for me.

Ron

That left three more packages to open, and Harry picked up Hermione's. She had given him a new broomstick servicing kit, (his last one had run out a few months ago,) and a large chocolate cake. Neville had bought him a wand holster, and Luna, two years worth of back issues of The Quibbler. As you're a reader now, you'd better catch up, she wrote.

Harry had been getting The Daily Prophet delivered recently as well as The Quibbler, as Luna's father had given him a complimentary subscription after the events of last year. Because of Harry's interview, most everyone who sided with him and Dumbledore, or who simply opposed Fudge, had a subscription to The Quibbler. Not to read about the developments on finding Atlantis or tips on breeding Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, but to make sure the Daily Prophet didn't "forget" to print anything important. Harry never really read at either one, except to laugh at the trouble Fudge had gotten himself into.

The Daily Prophet was riddled with articles demanding the resignation of the Minister, Cornelius Fudge. One reporter mentioned that "such incompetence at the head of our government should not be allowed. I for one…" Harry wondered if he was referring to the same kind of incompetence that had been at the head of their own newspaper for most of last year.

The Quibbler was also demanding a new Minister, but it was coupled with pages of conspiracy theories, each more detailed than the last, explaining that Fudge had planned this the whole time, or that he, along with his loyal army of Heliopaths, had plans to take over the world, would oppose both Albus Dumbledore, as well as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, for control over all of Europe, or, possibly even more strange, that he planned to retire and live out his days in Majorca, taking candy from babies, and being an all around mean old man.

Harry absentmindedly ate one of the biscuits the Weasleys had sent him, and tried to figure out what to do for the rest of the day.  
---------------------------------

Now, one day later, Harry, deaf, dumb and blind, knew exactly what the problem was. It hadn't taken him long to figure it out, either.

The Weasleys.

Biscuits.

Fred.

George.

_Bastards!_

Harry carefully lay back down on his bed. His knees hurt. While he was thinking about yesterday he had been pacing the floor absentmindedly. Needless to say, this wasn't a good idea. Pacing any room while being temporarily blinded was bad enough, but absentmindedness at the same time is even worse.

_They'll get theirs in the end_, Harry thought to himself, while setting his wand on the bedside table. _After all, I am the son of a Marauder, right?  
_  
Harry fell asleep soon after, plotting his revenge on the unfortunate Fred and George Weasley.

The next day around noon Harry's senses caught up with him. Anyone who's gone through this will know that this isn't exactly a pleasant experience. To make matters worse he was looking directly out his window when it happened. He wasn't really looking of course, it was just habit.

For a second, Harry thought a Nuclear weapon had gone of. His eyes and ears flared alive. He closed his eyes but it wasn't enough, he put his hands over his ears but that didn't seem to help either.

After a few moments, the pain started to lessen, but for the next five minutes, even the shadows under the bed were too bright for him, and his heartbeat and breathing sounded as though a microphone, wired through a 250-watt amp and turned up full volume, had been placed inside his chest.

He sat down on the bed, waiting for the worst of it to pass. After it had, he tried to speak. His vocal cords seemed to work alright, which didn't surprise him that much. After all, he hadn't said more than 20 words this entire summer with the Dursleys around, but words were still there when he needed them.

He suddenly realized that he hadn't fed Hedwig all day yesterday. He looked over at her cage. Hedwig was awake, but looking somewhat annoyed. The Ministry owl was still there, asleep but still trying to look regal, it seemed. Hedwig was glaring between Harry and the offending owl, not sure who to blame. Apparently she decided on the owl, as she suddenly pecked him sharply right between the eyes.

The owl jumped up, then turned and glared at Hedwig as if to say "You bastard! I was sleeping!" Then suddenly realizing his place as an owl from the Ministry, hopped out of the cage, ruffled his feathers important like, and flew out the open window.

Unfortunately, the window wasn't open, and a muffled sort of _Thunk!_ resonated from it. The owl lay sprawled on the bed below, and, yet again realizing his place, jumped up and looked wildly around to see if anyone saw. When he realized that both Harry and Hedwig did, he employed the use of a small saunter, as if to say, "Yea, I meant to do that." He then looked questioningly at Harry, who opened the window, shaking his head and trying not to laugh, to save whatever was left of the owl's ego.

After the owl left, Harry fed Hedwig, and started to look over the books Dumbledore had given him. The first one he picked up was one of the kinds he had specifically wanted. He read the title. _Practical Magic: A Guide to the Stuff They Just Don't Seem to Teach at School_. Harry laughed; he wasn't expecting that. Flipping through it, he managed to find the section on making portkeys. The spell was _Portus_, but there were also about 5 different variations of it.

_Portus Fixe_, was the standard spell, which would make a portkey that had a predetermined time and place to go. There was also _Portus Finite_, which would make a 'key that was voice activated, and would arrive wherever you imagined, as well as _Portus Reveali_, which would show if there was a portkey in the area, as well as, if applicable, when it was set to leave, and where it would arrive.

Harry also found stuff like disguising spells, a charm for resizing an object so you could, say, put it in your pocket, advanced cleaning spells, and other stuff that might be good to know. He would have continued to read, but he was interrupted by a knock at the front door. The Dursleys weren't at home, as Dudley had a tournament today, so Harry would have to get it. He got up and went downstairs.

He didn't really want to get it. He was dreading who it might be. Aunt Marge, Yvonne, Peirse and the rest of Dudley's gang. Whoever it was, it probably wasn't good. But it was actually the one person Harry least expected.

_A Dominoes pizza delivery guy._

"Hello, sir," he said, "so that's one large pepperoni, olive and ham, with extra cheese."

"Um," said Harry, "I didn't order a pizza."

The man, whose nametag read 'Guy,' Harry saw, shook his head. "No, you did, in fact you called me this morning. 'Hello,' you said, 'I want a large pepperoni pizza, with extra cheese, olives and ham delivered to a Harry Potter, at number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surry, at 1:07 P.M. today, let's see, yea, I should be home then.' And then you paid for it with a credit card, under the name 'Harry Potter,' and that was that."

"No, you don't understand," said Harry. "I didn't call you this morning, I also don't have a credit card. For that matter, I don't even like olives."

"You said you'd say that," the man said promptly.

Harry blinked owlishly at 'Guy.' He blinked back.

Harry blinked again. So did the pizza delivery guy.

* * *

**Okay, the books I used in the intro were:  
The Hitchhiker's Guide Trilogy (in 5 parts) by Douglas Adams. Actually I used it twice:) **

The Langoleers by Stephen King, from Four Past Midnight, and

The Science of Star Wars by Someone-or-other. Sorry, can't remember and I'm to lazy to look it up right now.

Hah, now none of you can sue me!


	3. Chapter 2: Friday Night Fights

Harry Potter and the Improbability Factor

Disclaimer, to all who care: …Meh, no one cares.

"Standards set and broken all the time, control the chaos behind a gun  
Call it as I see it even if I was born deaf, blind and dumb…  
I have no belief, but I believe  
I'm a walking contradiction And I ain't got no right."

Walking Contradiction – Green Day

* * *

Chapter 2: Friday Night Fights

Friday, August 2nd, 1996

When we last left Harry Potter, he was becoming increasingly confused as a Dominoes pizza delivery guy, called 'Guy,' spoke.

"No, you don't understand," said Harry. "I didn't call you this morning; I also don't have a credit card. For that matter, I don't even like olives."

"You said you'd say that," the man had said.

Harry blinked owlishly at 'Guy.' He had blinked back.

Harry had blinked again. So had the pizza delivery guy.

Legend has it that during some of the darker times of the Spanish Inquisition, there was a well-known scholar who came under suspicion of heresy. Apparently, he was teaching a class when several members of the Inquisition found him, and hauled him off for "questioning." After about three years of torture and interrogation without any sort of confession whatsoever, they finally let him go.

He then went back to the university to resume his post as professor, and on his first day back, he said to his students, "As I was saying the other day…" as if nothing remotely interesting had happened.

Harry had never made it into High School history classes, and so never heard this or anything like it, but if he had, this man would have brought it back at this moment. Of course, this wouldn't have been the first time, either. _Bloody Inquisitorial Squad, indeed._

-- &)()(& --

"Ex- Excuse me?" asked Harry, once he had gotten his voice back under his control. "What do you mean, 'I said I'd say that?'

"Precisely what I said, my good sir," he answered, leaving Harry wondering if anything ever bothered this Guy. "And by the way," he added, "you said you'd say that as well. My, but you're really good at this, you know."

"So," he said, offering the pizza box to Harry. "If you'd just like to take this, then I can be on my way, and you can get back to whatever it is that you do."

Harry hesitated. "You want me… to take the pizza?" Harry asked. He was quite sure one of them wasn't completely sane, but couldn't figure out if it was himself or not. He shook himself, but it didn't help.

"Of course," Guy said, "after all, it is yours." Harry couldn't argue with that logic, so he reached out, and took the box from Guy. "Thanks."

"Oh, no problem at all. Err…" he added, loosing his good natured grin for the first time. "Are you alright, sir? You don't have amnesia, or anything, do you?"

"If it helps," said Harry wearily, "maybe you should go ahead and believe that."

"Ah. Righto, then." The slightly nauseating look was back on his face. "Well, I'd best be going. Taa taa, and all that." With that colorful statement, Guy left.

Harry closed the door and made his way back to his room, his head stinging slightly. He set the pizza box down on his desk, got out a quill and parchment, and began to write the letter to Professor McGonagall about his courses for the following year.

As he wrote, he absentmindedly ate a slice of pizza, grimacing as he bit into an olive, which he had forgotten to get rid of. Sighing, Harry brought his wand out of his pocket, and with a small wave of his wand cleared away the offending slices of foul tasting matter. _Magic can be really good sometimes, _Harry thought, as he went back to his writing.

You might think that this was a bad idea, especially after the last time Harry ate anything without thinking about it, and you'd be right. After all, if he dealt with Voldemort in the same mindset he was in now, he'd have been dead long ago. Surprisingly, though, nothing bizarre happened to him, or rather, nothing _too _bizarre.

Once Harry finished his letter, tied it to Hedwig's leg and she flew away, he went back to his desk and sat down. He was surprised to find that half the pizza was already gone, but even more surprised to find a note, folded up and stuffed into a sandwich bag, in the box, half hidden under a half eaten crust.

Carefully, as though he might get burned, Harry picked up the letter, pulled it out of the bag, unfolded it and began to read:

_Hey Harry,_

_If I remember right, you've had a very interesting couple of days. Well, let me assure you that it's about to get worse._

_The pizza that was delivered to you earlier was indeed ordered by you, about 1 year after you received it. I should know, as I called it in. That's right. You, that is to say I, will, or rather have…_

One of the problems with time-travel, besides meeting yourself and having the universe collapse, is that it plays hell on past-tenses, which is one of the reasons MENSA started to petition a bill to have it banned near the end of the 21st century. The letter continued, seeming to have made an effort to compose itself, though of course, a letter composing itself is just another one of those impossibilities, nice as it might be.

_Look, your name is Harry Potter, right? Well, so is mine. About a year ago I received a letter just like this one. So of course I knew I'd have to send it, because I already had sent it. Don't worry, it'll start to make sense eventually, trust me._

_At any rate, The point of this is to inform you that all of your important documents, i.e. passports, credit cards, Gringotts bank cert., and absolutely real, 100 non-fake I.D. will arrive within the next few days._

_Furthermore, on the next page you will find your itinerary for 6th year. It gets a bit confusing, so be sure and read the fine print. I would say have a good year, but I know better, so_

_Later then,_

_Harry Potter_

Harry sighed, and wondered why he was being so cold with himself. It sounded like he was writing himself a bank statement. He didn't think he'd done anything wrong; _he _was just being a cold-hearted bit-

_Wait a second, _Harry cut himself off. _How do I even know that was me? What if I was lying? _Harry's head was spinning. _No, that can't be, I mean, why would I lie to myself? _Then the solution came to him. _I'll write myself a note, ask me for proof… Yea, that would work._

With that in mind, Harry turned to the second page, the title of which read: _Itinerary._

Most of it seemed perfectly normal. For instance, he'd be leaving for Grimmauld Place in on Monday, he'd be catching the Hogwarts Express at 11:00 on the first of September, and he'd have a pop quiz in Potions on the second week of October.

Other things, unfortunately, weren't so normal. They ranged from 'predictable,' Fudge getting kicked out of office in early December, to 'a bit out of the ordinary,' Ron confessing his undying love for Hermione at the end of summer, to 'out to lunch,' the sudden appearance of a Doohickey in the Gryffindor common room, startling Dumbledore into a mild heart attack, to 'freakin' nutso,' Harry's appearance in the "Inter-Dimensional Good Guy's Convention," to 'questionable,' in May, Harry was scheduled to destroy Voldemort, though underneath that was a footnote reading "Subject to change."

He was just reading about how in April a Nunduu would attack Hogsmeade, killing three people, simply because he had nothing better to do with his time, when an owl flew in and dropped a letter on his desk. It was from Fred and George. They didn't say very much, only asking what Harry thought of their new product, "Tommy Biscuits." They explained how WWW was going, and told him that since he was now one third owner, he'd better get off his butt and help out a bit.

-- &)()(& --

Later that day, Harry was walking through the park when he heard a loud yell coming from somewhere to his right. He followed the noise, and saw Dudley, his cousin, arguing with a small boy named Mark Evans, who was about 12 years old.

"Give me your money!" Dudley said.

"I don't have any," Mark replied.

"Give me your money!" Dudley argued.

"I don't have any," Mark amended.

"Do you know what's gonna happen to you if you're lying to me?" Dudley negotiated.

"Do I have a choice?" Mark offered.

"So it's gonna be like that, is it?" Dudley concluded.

"Just make it quick." Mark affirmed, putting his arms over his face.

They hadn't seen Harry yet, so he tried to think of a plan before Mark was pounded into oblivion. Unfortunately he didn't have that kind of time, so he put his hand into his pocket and brought out one of Hagrid's rock cakes, which he'd been carrying around ever since he'd gotten the idea to use them against Dudley, as the idea had been too damn good to ignore.

Taking aim, he lobbed the rock cake right at Dudley's large head as hard as he could. It hit him squarely above his left ear. It seemed that Dudley didn't even notice the cake hitting him in the head hard enough to make an elk get on with what it was doing, but his ears worked fine, and he heard Harry's yell of "Oy! Pea Brain!" loud and clear. He looked around stupidly for a moment and his eyes found Harry.

Unfortunately, Harry was distracted by a sudden nagging sense of Déjà vu. _This is just too familiar_, Harry thought, and was suddenly jolted back to his senses as he barely dodged a 400 pound muggle that was charging at him. This time, though, luck was on Harry's side. He had been standing in front of a very large, very solid tree, and when he dodged his cousin…

_Smack!_

Dudley slowly picked himself up off the ground, grunting like a winded rhinoceros and glaring at Harry and Mark. Harry looked over at Mark. "You might want to leave now." Harry said offhandedly, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Mark Evans was indeed a muggle. He was also 12 years old. And he was also male. However, despite all these setbacks, even he didn't need telling twice. He left. Quickly.

After he left, Harry had a quick look around, wanting to take a good stock of his situation. The park Harry was in was very nice. It was in a very wealthy part of town, and as with anything else involving very wealthy people, it was definitely not done half-assed. Off to Harry's right was a hiking trail, leading off into a woodsy area, that would have been perfect for walking the dog, except that it was complete with signs reading _No Pets Allowed. _To his left, a very large, very green field, with a row of trees almost a quarter of a mile away. Behind the trees was a fence guarding the row of tall suburban houses barely peeking over the top of the trees. In front of him was a large white gazebo, surrounded by a small rocky moat.

Yes, the people of this neighborhood definitely did not do things by half. They were proud of this place, so proud in fact, that they christened it _Pride Square. _However, if they would have known that the suburbs main income was generated by the outrageous movie theater snack and beverage prices, they probably wouldn't have been quite as smug with themselves.

Harry turned around and looked the other way. There was nothing very interesting here, just Dudley and a bunch of trees, one of them with a good-sized crack in it.

By this time, Dudley had finally picked himself up, and had started to charge at Harry again. Harry sighed, and pulled out his wand, almost lazily, and used the levitation charm, meaning to pick Dudley straight of the ground.

The result, however, was a bit different than Harry expected. The combination of Dudley's weight, with his rate of travel toward Harry, arcing him straight over his head, directly into one of the wooden pillars holding the gazebo up, and then crashing face-first into the moat, his head meeting with one of the larger boulders in the water.

Harry stood shocked as Dudley pulled his head up out of the water, looked around dazedly and muttered a few incoherent nothings before passing out, where he would have drown if Harry hadn't taken pity on him and pulled him up out of the water.

Harry had thought about leaving him there, but reluctantly, he cast a quick drying charm on him, as well as the feather light spell, before starting to drag him toward number 4.

-- &)()(& --

By the time Harry made his way home, he was feeling very tired, and wanted nothing more than to deposit Dudley on the couch and make his way to his room so he could sleep.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans for him. Harry opened the door to number four, and walked inside, maneuvering Dudley as best he could so he'd fit through the doorway. Finally, he was at the couch, and he threw Dudley on to it, then removed the feather light charm. He turned around to make his way up the stairs, and saw his Uncle Vernon standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking livid. Nothing new.

"What do you think you're doing, boy," He bellowed. "What did you do to my son?"

Harry had a large grin on his face as he answered, "Well, he was bullying a kid half his size, so I did what any self-respecting Gryffindor would do."

His grin widened even more, if it were possible. "I kicked his ass."

-- &)()(& --


	4. Chapter 3: Friday Night FightsPart 2

**Harry Potter and the Improbability Factor**

Disclaimer, to all who care: I own nada, zip, zilch, nat'ing, zero. There is a void of anything I own here. I have no claims. This is officially a Link-owned-stuff-less zone. Anything you see is not mine. If you had a candy for everything I own in here, you'd be sad.

**Chapter 3: Friday Night Fights, Part 2

* * *

**

_One of the greatest problems regarding the human psyche is that it constantly puts far more attention on the obvious as opposed to the obscure. Another problem is that humans have an annoying and rather awkward habit of speaking their minds before they really get a chance to think about it. Because of this, most human beings are in the habit of continuously stating the obvious, such as, 'It's cold out here,' or 'You're an idiot,' or 'I kicked his ass.' Most people have thought about these phenomena at one time or another in their lives, but usually fail to grasp the true level of its effectiveness._

_For instance, it was clear to Vernon Dursley that his psychotic freak of a nephew had just walked into the living room. It was also clear that his son, Dudley, was following right behind him, though not under his own power. It was clear to him that his son had a large red knot on his head, that he had fainted, and that his nephew, Harry, was responsible._

_It wasn't, however, clear to him that 30 seconds after Harry had shut the door behind him it had discreetly opened and closed again. Nor was it clear to him that if he looked closely enough at the carpet, he would have noticed depressions shaped suspiciously like a shoe, leading off towards a spot near Harry. Since these things weren't readily apparent to him, his mind dismissed them, preferring to focus on the more obvious facts presented to it._

--(((&)))--

...He turned around to make his way up the stairs, and saw his Uncle Vernon standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking livid. Nothing new.

"What do you think you're doing, boy," He bellowed. "What did you do to my son?"

Harry had a large grin on his face as he answered, "Well, he was bullying a kid half his size, so I did what any self-respecting Gryffindor would do."

His grin widened even more, if it were possible. "I kicked his ass."

--(((&)))--

"You... what did...why..." Vernon Dursley was confused. He was confused that his son, Dudley, the boxing champion, would get beat by his scrawny nephew. He was confused that Harry would be so honest, and that he would be smiling rather than cowering in a corner somewhere. He was also confused that Harry had his wand out, pointed straight between his eyes.

"Well, to be honest, it was mostly a tree, a gazebo and a few really big rocks, I just helped out a bit." Harry was enjoying this. He had just knocked his cousin out, he was allowed to use magic out of school and he'd be leaving for Grimmauld Place before the weekend was out.

Meanwhile, Vernon Dursley was looking at his nephew like he'd gone mad. It wasn't like Harry to be so straight forward, and most definitely not like him to ever smile in his presence, especially when he'd done something like this. On the other hand, this was the perfect time to get back at him for all those years of torment and despair Harry had brought on him and his family. This time it would be perfect. He'd get that blasted Harry Potter back if it was the last thing he ever did. He'd... he would... Well, he'd do something pretty horrible that was for sure.

He looked over at Harry, who was staring back at him, as if waiting for him to make the first move. He thought that as much as he wanted to give Harry the 'old one-two,' he knew at least that he wouldn't be able to, what with his nephew holding that bloody wand. So, he thought, it's a battle of wits, is it? That, of course, would be no problem at all. Not for Vernon Dursley, the president of Grunnings. So he started to quickly formulate a plan.

What was it that he could do right this minute that would pay Harry back for all the hardships that he had brought upon his family? Then it hit him. He'd call the police. No no, wait for it. Yes, I'll call the police, put him under citizen's arrest, and then, make him confess every unlawful thing he'd ever done and then, when he ends up rotting in prison for the rest of his life, I'll have my revenge. Happy with the way things were turning out, Vernon went for the phone. Of course, considering that Harry could easily have stopped him, by, say for instance, turning the receiver into a poisonous snake when his uncle tried to pick it up was not a fact that was immediately obvious to Vernon Dursley's mind, he quite naturally ignored it.

Harry was watching this internal struggle with interest, and when his uncle went for the receiver, Harry just let it happen. He figured that if the police did come by, and arrest him, Harry would at least eat better than at the Dursley house. Not to mention that any homicidal maniacs he ran across while there would certainly be more entertaining than anything the Dursley's could offer.

Interestingly enough, however, the unseen visitor standing behind Harry had different plans. Considering the fact that they were pressed for time, she aimed her wand at Vernon, and, with an unheard incantation transfigured the receiver into a poisonous snake, which promptly wrapped itself around his arm, trying to crush it. Harry turned and saw the face, and the rest, of Nymphodora Tonks, as the last of the Disillusionment Charm fell away.

"Wotcher, Tonks!" Harry said lightly, as Vernon backed into a case holding some largely inexpensive china, which promptly fell on the floor. "Nice wand work, by the way. I hope you're well?"

"Harry," she said solemnly, not about to be out-cooled. "Aye, very well, though I must say, if you ever steal any of my lines again, you'll find this," she waived vaguely over at Harry's uncle, who was thrashing on the floor, among bits of glass and wood, still trying to get the snake off him, "to be a pleasure."

"Oh, believe me, I already do," Harry said appreciatively, watching his uncle as he got up and ran straight for the wall on the opposite side of the room. With a loud whoop, which, Harry assumed was from the snake, Vernon collided with the wall and fell over, knocked out even before he hit the ground. Harry walked over and cast a critical eye over him.

"To be honest I'm surprised he didn't scream a bit more," he said, noticing the small pieces of china sticking out at odd angles all over him.

Tonks gave a small sheepish smile. "Actually, he probably did," she admitted ruefully, "only I cast Silencio on him as well. So the neighbors wouldn't hear," she added unconvincingly.

"So, what brings you to my humble abode?" Harry asked, in a great impersonation of Dumbledore.

"Actually I'm here to take you to Grimmauld Place," she said. "In fact, we should have been there about five minutes ago, so you'd better get packing" she added, looking at her watch.

"Didn't leave me much time, did they?" Harry asked, as they made their way to his bedroom.

"Well actually it was my fault. I left about an hour ago, but I kind of got lost." Her sheepish smile was back on "Last time I was here, there was a lot of people with me, so I didn't bother to pay any attention to where I was going. That's how I ended up in the park where you were. Nice work with Dudley, by the way. That wasn't one of Hagrid's Rock cakes, was it?"

"Yea," Harry grinned. They continued on toward Harry's bedroom, making small talk as Tonks muttered at the cleanliness and organization of the Dursley household.

"So, how will we be getting there?" Harry asked, as he packed up his books. He looked suddenly suspicious. "We're not flying again, are we?"

"Oh, no. We're just gonna use a Portkey this time. Right, got all your stuff? Let's get going, then."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry again for this taking so long. And for this being such a short chapter. Next one should be good though, I've got some new stuff being introduced, and I'll have a lot of fun writing it, so maybe 3 days or so.**


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